


Museums

by bessemerprocess



Category: Pundit & Broadcast Journalist RPF (US), Real News RPF
Genre: FNFF OT, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Museums, cultural destruction, looting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 10:19:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bessemerprocess/pseuds/bessemerprocess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard and Anderson on a bad day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Museums

The museum is in ruins around them: statues smashed to the ground, gilded boxes torn asunder, cultural treasures in pieces. There is soot on the walls and water on the floor, where the locals had attempted to put out the blaze. Other parts of the building are unsafe, but here, foreign journalists have been allowed in, a handful at a time, to take their pictures and film their commentary for a nation half way across the world that doesn't quite understand what humanity lost here today.

"That's five thousand years old," Richard whispers under his breath to Anderson, about a tiny stone statue that is now missing its head, as they are ushered back out on to the street

“Want a drink,” Richard asks once they are out of earshot, and Anderson is thankful that they are currently in a country where it is both legal and possible to purchase alcohol.

“Please,” Anderson responds.

“I know a place,” Richard says, and they head towards a dive Richard seems to know well.

The bar might as well be a museum, with it’s walls covered in art and artifacts of the one hundred and twenty two years it has been open. They both start with beer, sitting at a little corner table, out of sight of the locals, and stare at the walls and the stories they tell.

“It’s such a fucking waste,” Richard says, eventually. He’s on his third, and his shoulders are still slumped.

“There are conservators and disaster recovery expert already on sight. There’s nothing else to do,” Anderson replies, knowing that experts will never fix what is wrong with Richard.

“I know,” Richard sighs. “Sometimes I just wish I could get in there and fix something with my own hands.”

Anderson goes on assignment, but Richard lives out here, surrounded by death and disorder every day. Anderson visits the chaos that war and nature inflict on humanity, but for Richard, this is a permanent home.

Anderson finishes his beer off, and then reaches across the table to tug on Richard’s hand. “Come back with me,” he says.

“I...” Richard searches his face, for what, Anderson doesn’t know, but whatever it is, he finds it. “Okay.”

The walk is quiet, and the the hotel room is anonymous. They don’t talk as Anderson gets them both out of their clothes and on to the bed. Richard kiss like a drowning man, and Anderson lets him pull him under. It’s fast and messy, and just as desperate, but when they are done, Richard falls asleep and the lines and the worry that are carved into his face smooth out. And that is all Anderson can do.


End file.
